


This and that

by unrestedjade



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:41:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestedjade/pseuds/unrestedjade
Summary: More one-shots, some of which are continuations of fills from Party Favors. That collection is getting unwieldy, so it's fresh start time. This collection will contain genfic only!





	1. Get-A-Job and the inconvenient napping spot

**Author's Note:**

> For dragoniangirl! The continuing adventures of [Get-A-Job.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7232545/chapters/17532280) Sans should know better than to doze off undefended.  
> Warnings: none.

Leash in hand, Papyrus walked through the house, calling softly so as not to wake Sans from his nap. Where was Get-A-Job? It was time for their daily walk. Or, more correctly, it was time for their daily chaotic wandering. Get-A-Job had mastered the concept of getting exercise outside, and even put up with the leash, but it had no sense of urgency about the whole business.

Passing by the couch, Papyrus paused to tut at his snoring brother. Honestly! Wasting the best part of the day asleep, wasn’t that just like him? Well, it was Sans’ loss. Papyrus continued on his way to search the kitchen, but was brought up short by a familiar sound.

That wasn’t a snore. As far as he knew, Sans didn’t make that happy rumbly noise while he slept. Someone else did, however.

Papyrus returned to the couch. Now that he was paying attention, he spied the very tip of a tail peeking from the hem of Sans’ hoodie.

“Get-A-Job!” Papyrus hissed. This wouldn’t do at all! Sans tolerated the little creature, but he definitely wouldn’t be pleased to wake up with it cozily nestled in his ribcage. “Get-A-Job, get out of there this instant!”

The tail twitched. Nothing more.

Sighing, Papyrus knelt and lifted the edge of the hoodie. A pair of yellow eyes regarded him without concern from the dark, miniature cave of Sans’ ribs. Get-A-Job chirped, uncurling to roll on its back, as comfortable and happy as any small animal could be. With all four paws in the air, it rolled about as though doing its level best to shed as much hair as possible.

“You little scoundrel.” As he reached in to scoop Get-A-Job out of his brother’s torso, Papyrus mused that it was a good thing Sans was such a heavy sleeper.

Get-A-Job wasn’t a living fluid like some monsters were, but nonetheless Papyrus couldn’t seem to get a decent grip on it. Every attempt ended with the creature slipping through his hands as easily as a greased fish. At last, Get-A-Job retreated up near Sans’ collarbones, out of easy reach. Its irritation passed quickly. It kneaded the fuzzy lining of the hoodie, rumbling to itself. Something about its face struck Papyrus as unbearably smug.

Right. This called for a change in tactics. “Don’t think you’ve won just because you have the high ground,” Papyrus muttered. Get-A-Job yawned.

None of Get-A-Job’s many toys interested it in the least, not even the crinkly foil ball. Papyrus thought the animal might be lured out with food, but Get-A-Job merely stared as though it had never seen a treat before, only to snatch it from Papyrus’ fingers when he moved closer. The third time Papyrus found himself suckered into literally hand-delivering a snack to the crafty little creature he considered that he might have lost this particular battle of wits.

“Fine!” Papyrus sat at the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed. “You can stay in there all day as far as I care.” He took his phone out. Obviously there would be no walk today.

Not five minutes later, he looked from his phone to find Get-A-Job curled in his lap. It was such a rare occurrence that he forgot to be annoyed.

Sans spent the rest of the day sneezing, for mysterious reasons.


	2. Rubber and Glue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For babycharmander, who had a great Babybones prompt. Smol schoolkid Papyrus deals with some bullying!  
> Warnings: none.

Papyrus liked living in Snowdin. He liked the cozy house he and his brother lived in. He liked the snow, and the woods. He liked his school.

 

At least, he'd like his school a whole lot better once he wasn't the new kid, and had friends and all that stuff.

 

Time passed. He wasn't the new kid and hadn't been for a while now. Despite his best efforts, he was falling badly behind schedule in the 'making friends' department. He supposed he might be getting a little lazy— not talking quite so much or putting himself out there like he had at the start. Honestly, though? He was starting to get just the tiniest, teensiest bit discouraged.

 

The kids in his class were nice enough, and he liked them all! Something just wasn't clicking, no matter how hard he tried. It was like the hardest puzzle ever.

 

A voice pulled his attention away from his thoughts. Papyrus looked up from his sandwich. "I'm sorry?"

 

"I said," the kid across from him said, "Would you move? Irene wants to sit here and there's no more room."

 

He'd been the first kid to sit at this table, and it wouldn't be hard to pull an extra chair up. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that a group had formed around him more or less by accident. None of the other kids at the table had spoken to him since they'd sat down.

 

Maybe he wasn't welcome. They probably didn't mean it that way, but...

 

"Of course," Papyrus said, smiling gamely. "It's no problem, the Great Papyrus is happy to help!"

 

Packing everything back into his lunch box and walking to an empty table, Papyrus mused on how cool he was, making sure a group of friends could all sit together. They looked pretty happy over there, talking and laughing. He'd made their day better!

 

By leaving.

 

He unpacked his lunch again, but spent the rest of the break picking listlessly at his food. He wasn't so hungry all of a sudden.

 

 

 

Doggo knocked his books from his hands in the hallway, but he was pretty clumsy on account of his eyesight and was always doing things like that. Papyrus put it out of mind.

 

 

 

During study period, most of the class commiserated over the last history test. Grades had been bad enough that the teacher was preparing an extra assignment to do over the weekend, which was pretty much the worst news a bunch of ten-year-olds could hear on a Thursday afternoon, on par with famine or natural disaster. Wails went up throughout the room, mourning sleepovers, hockey games, and cartoon binges that would go unslept, unplayed, and unwatched.

 

Papyrus hovered at the edge of a nearby group who, like him, were still looking over their red-marked papers.

 

"I've never got a C before," Irene lamented. "On anything! My parents are gonna kill me!"

 

"At least you passed," said Doggo, tail drooping. "Now I gotta waste the whole weekend at the stupid librarby writing some stupid report."

 

"I know," Papyrus said, shaking his head over the many corrections the teacher had written in the margins of his test. "I had a whole bunch of prototype puzzles to build, and there's no way I'll have time now."

 

Doggo glared. Irene turned to stare at Papyrus, looking genuinely confused. "Were we talking to you?"

 

"No...?" Papyrus stared back at her for a moment. Everyone else just talked when they wanted to, or at least that's what it looked like to him. What was he missing? "Sorry if I interrupted," he said, because he did tend to interrupt people sometimes. He was sure she'd finished her sentence, but maybe he'd been mistaken.

 

Irene rolled all three eyes as he went and sat back down at his desk. "Weirdo," she muttered.

 

What had he said that was weird? Papyrus frowned down at his test. He hadn't done any better than they had, and he was upset about his grade and his ruined weekend, too!

 

He wanted to ask what he was doing wrong. There had to be something.

~

Papyrus hiked his backpack higher on his shoulder, reaching back to rub his skull. That last snowball Doggo threw must have had a chunk of ice in it, or else it had been packed _really_ hard. He'd laughed along with everyone else when he'd been hit— the Great Papyrus wasn't a wimp— but it had actually hurt quite a lot. Enough to make him see stars and leave him sniffling.

 

Well, accidents happened. Not everyone was great at making snowballs. Papyrus didn't want to make his clumsy classmate feel bad by letting on how much his head smarted.

 

He was sure Doggo wouldn't hurt him on purpose.

 

In any case, another school day was over. Once he rounded the corner of the libarby, the rest of the walk home was solitary and quiet. Light spilled from the lower windows of their house. Sans was still at work, but he always left the lights on so it wasn't dark when Papyrus got home. Fishing his key from his pocket, Papyrus let himself inside.

 

The evening was the usual routine. Sans got home and they made dinner, after which was homework time. Once his homework was finished, Papyrus arrayed his puzzle theory books on the living room rug, sketching out designs in his notebook until it was time for bed.

~

Sans looked up from the battered copy of _Fluffy Bunny Saves Arbor Day_ he'd scavenged from the dump. "What's up, bro? You're kinda quiet today."

 

"It's nothing." Papyrus let his arm droop down to trace the plastic wheel on the side of the bed. He wasn't ready to go to sleep. That wasn't unusual for him, but tonight he didn't want extra time to work on a puzzle or play a game.

 

Going to sleep meant tomorrow would come faster, and he didn't want to go back to school. He'd never not wanted to go to school before, even when he was sick.

 

"Moping for no good reason is my thing," Sans said, unwilling to let the matter go. "You're too cool for that. Spill."

 

Papyrus curled up in his blankets, all the worry that had built up over the afternoon and evening bubbling up in his stomach. "Am I weird?"

 

Sans' frown deepened. "Who told you that?"

 

"It doesn't matter." Papyrus burrowed his face into the pillow. "Some kids. Am I?"

 

"Of course you're not," Sans said, too quickly and too loud. He didn't get upset easily, but Papyrus could tell he was mad. "You're unique, and you have your own ideas about stuff, and that's what makes you special."

 

Oh. _Special._ Since they'd moved here, Papyrus had learned that when kids used words like 'special,' often they didn't mean it in a good way. Sighing, he rolled to face the wall. "I'm weird." His voice quivered with the pronouncement, a long time of feeling not-quite-right crystallizing into that single word.

 

He was weird. Something about him was wrong, special in a bad way, and that was why he didn't have friends. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but everyone else seemed to pick up on it no matter how hard he tried to do things right and say the things he was supposed to say.

 

He'd always thought that his big brother's talent for talking and getting other monsters to like him was because he was older and had a lot more practice. Maybe it was just that Sans wasn't weird.

 

How could Papyrus stop being weird? Was _that_ something he could practice?

 

Sans nudged him with a gentle hand. "Hey, you wanna know something a lot of folks don't?"

 

Curiosity overrode self-pity, and Papyrus glanced over his shoulder at Sans.

 

"Everybody's weird."

 

That didn't sound likely. That would make being weird normal, and then everyone would be normal. Including Papyrus, and then there wouldn't be a reason for the other kids to act the way they did around him.

 

His skepticism must have shown on his face.

 

"It's true," Sans said, leaning on the side of the bed. "Look at me, right? I keep every single thing about stars that I can find, even though it's totally useless information. I'm astronomically weird."

 

"You don't count," Papyrus said, stubbornly refusing to be comforted by the assurance or annoyed by the pun. Brothers were supposed to be weird, after all. That was just Sans excelling at being normal.

 

"What about Mr. Grillby? He's made of fire and he lives way out here in Snowdin where it's freezing cold." Sans drummed his fingertips against the wooden racecar frame. "Makes no sense. And the wolf who cuts the ice blocks for the Core doesn't wear pants. And the riverperson? You used to be scared to ride the ferry because of them."

 

Papyrus huffed. His brother was just listing grown-ups. Grown-ups could afford to be weird if they wanted to. Who was going to tell them to sit at a different lunch table or throw too-hard snowballs at them?

 

"And do you know who's weirder than anyone?"

 

"Who?" Papyrus said, simply because he knew he was supposed to say it.

 

Sans rested his chin on his folded arms, face falling solemn. "Someone who tries to make someone else unhappy. Someone who sees a nice person and decides to be mean to them. That's _really_ weird."

 

Papyrus thought about that for a minute, unable to find any way to dismiss Sans' words. It was a fair point.

 

"You're not the one who needs to change," Sans said, more assertive than usual. He grinned. "Want me to set 'em straight? Nobody messes with my bro and get away with it." His tone was only half joking.

 

Papyrus considered the offer for only a moment. "No," he said. "I don't want you to act like that, either." He was sure that wasn't the way to fix the problem, and the thought of Sans acting mean on his behalf felt especially bad.

 

Grin slipping, Sans nodded assent. "Right. Guess that wouldn't be such a good look, huh? Even if the little punks deserve it." He reached out to pat the top of Papyrus' head. "How'd you get so cool? Seriously."

 

Even through his lingering unhappiness, Papyrus couldn't help a slight smile.

~

As much as Papyrus wasn't looking forward to school (a strange, unpleasant new feeling), it was wrong to lie and fake being sick. Besides, Sans would have to call off work to look after him, and that wasn't fair. It was Friday. It was almost the weekend, extra homework or not, and he could get through the day.

 

He decided to take the day off from trying to be friendly, opting to bring his puzzle notebook to work on at lunch and study period. It was surprisingly nice to have something to focus on other than the kids around him, and as the day went on Papyrus felt better. Maybe he'd just needed a break.

 

He'd all but forgotten about last night's anxieties, until Doggo ran into him on the walk home after school. He definitely crashed into Papyrus on purpose this time, and as Papyrus hopped back to his feet he was dismayed to find that the other boy had snatched his notebook.

 

"Um," Papyrus said, uneasy but trying to maintain a stoic front. "That's mine."

 

Flipping through the notebook, Doggo scoffed. "Front-row dork doesn't even take notes anymore. What, you think you're so smart you can just make your dumb drawings all day?"

 

Papyrus frowned. His grades weren't bad, but he was far from the top of the class. That wasn't the most glaring flaw in Doggo's statement, though.

 

"You sit in the front row, too!"

 

Papyrus was mad, but he didn't know what to do about it. He'd told Sans not to be mean, so he couldn't turn around and be mean himself, or he'd be... a person who did stuff they told other people not to do. And that was wrong.

 

And he didn't want to make Doggo feel bad, not really.

 

He only wanted his notebook back.

 

"Please," he said, reaching out for the notebook, which Doggo predictably held up higher. "It took a long time to design all those. I don't mind if you look at them, but be careful with it?"

 

"Oh?" Doggo grinned nastily, and Papyrus got the distinct impression that he'd said the wrong thing. "What'll you do if I rip it up?"

 

What would he do? He wasn't sure. Papyrus had gotten pretty good, he thought, at not crying when he felt like crying. That said, he'd probably cry if he had to watch months of irreplaceable work get torn up for no good reason.

 

He shrugged and crossed his arms, clenching his jaw tight.

 

Doggo glared at him, almost like he was offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

Papyrus shrugged again. He really didn't know. He didn't know anything right now, and he didn't know how to ask _why._ Why did Doggo want to rip up his notebook? Why didn't anyone want to eat lunch with him? Why didn't they want to be friends?

 

He didn't know. He was getting tired of trying to figure it out.

 

"You're just gonna stand there and watch me do it?" Doggo was peering at him distrustfully now, as if this was all a big trick. He glanced around, looking for who-knew-what in the shadows.

 

What was he looking for? An ambush? Papyrus didn't have any friends.

 

"I guess," Papyrus grumbled, doing his best to make peace with the fact that he'd have to start over with a new notebook. One that he wouldn't take with him to school. There was nothing else he could do, short of socking Doggo in the nose, and he didn't want to do that. "I don't know what you want."

 

Despite his efforts, he was crying just a little bit. Mercifully, there wasn't anyone else around to see how wimpy he was acting.

 

Doggo fidgeted with the notebook, bending it this way and that. The hair on the scruff of his neck stood up. After a moment of painful tension, he chucked the notebook at Papyrus.

 

"Fine!" he barked, a small explosion of pure discomfort. "Take the stupid thing back, weirdo!"

 

The noise was as much of a shock as the impact of wiring binding and paper against his face. Papyrus fumbled, but caught his treasured notebook before it could fall into the snow. He clutched his dozens of puzzle designs tight to his chest.

 

"Thank you," he said, still sniffling.

 

Doggo pressed his ears flat. "Whatever."

 

Papyrus knew he should probably leave before Doggo got the idea to push him over, or something. Watching the other boy slouching with his tail literally tucked between his legs, it occurred to him that Doggo was a weird, front-row dork with no friends, too. Maybe he was also trying to figure out what he was supposed to do and just not doing a very good job.

 

Having no friends was hard. Papyrus knew how that felt.

 

"Um." Boots scuffing the snow, Papyrus thought over what he was going to say. "My big brother found a video game at the dump. He's not much fun to play with, though— doesn't try to win, or anything. You could come and try it tomorrow, if you wanted."

 

"Ugh, how desperate _are_ you?"

 

Doggo didn't seem to realize he'd insulted himself as much as Papyrus with that one, but for once Papyrus knew better than to point that out.

 

One ear flicking in annoyance, Doggo sighed. "Maybe," he muttered, sullen. "Better than the stupid librarby, I guess."

 

Papyrus caught himself smiling, and schooled his face into a more manly expression. "Okay. See you tomorrow!"

 

Feeling totally himself again and about a million percent happier, Papyrus ran home to get the house ready for company.

 

He didn't have to be mean back! And he'd even made a whole friend (whether Doggo knew it yet or not).

 

Sans was right, he _didn't_ have to change. He just had to be himself even harder. He had to be himself _so much_ that no one would be able to withstand how great and cool and nice he was.

 

Like many breakthroughs, it seemed obvious in hindsight.


	3. buttscotch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For leafbladie, a set of twins with only one name between them falls into the Underground-- the girl is always bandaged and the boy always carries a stick. Thanks for the prompt!
> 
> Content advisory: none.

Gauze strode confidently through the dank ruins next to her twin brother, the loose ends of the bandage around her head flapping like the tails of a kung-fu headband.

After a long climb, a fall that they’d been lucky to weather as well as they had, and a run-in with a local thug that had left them moments from going down in a literal hail of bullets (no gun required) her spirits were flagging only a little bit. Gauze had wondered, just before their savior had arrived, whether she and her brother would end up sharing one grave marker with their one shared name on it. It would be almost funny— the mistake on their birth certificates christening them both ‘Frisk’ coming full circle.

Not that Gauze had been scared at all! She was a soldier of the streets, and knew any day might be her last. It was the nature of the game (despite having no actual experience with said game, she was sure on this point). Still, she would have preferred to go out in a blaze of glory amid stacks of cash and her legions of loyal compatriots, leaving her brother behind to spend the rest of the money and keep her legacy alive. Surviving at least until all her baby teeth fell out would probably be a good first step on the path to greatness.

So, having someone step up and save them was a good thing, as far as that went. She was still salty about needed to be saved in the first place, though.

Gauze didn’t like the idea of owing an adult, especially over something as serious as her and Sticks’ lives. The weird old lady (couldn’t get much weirder than a magic…goat?) just kept being nice to them after she’d chased away that creepy plant thing, like it was her job to look after them. She’d done something to the gash Gauze had got on her head when they’d fallen down to this crazy place, and now the blurry concussion was just a light headache. She had a feeling that if she peeled up the bandages, the gash would be closed up. It itched like crazy.

Goat Lady had even given them a cell phone! It was a really old one, but still. What was her angle? They weren’t her kids.

The phone rang, and Gauze stuck her new knife (it was just a plastic toy, but whatever— Sticks had found it, so she’d keep it) in her boot so she had a hand free to flip the phone open.

It was Goat Lady. Who else would be calling? “What sort of thing do you like best in desserts?” she asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

What kind of lame-brain question was that? “Cinnamon,” Gauze said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Butterscotch,” Sticks said, at the same time.

Chuckling, the goat woman thanked them and hung up.

Gauze put the old cell phone back in her pocket. “What do you think that was about?”

“Baking something?” Sticks shrugged. “It’s your fault if it ends up being gross.” He started forward again, stick sweeping an arc in front of him to detect rocks and things to trip over. “She told us her name, you know. Don’t act like you don’t remember it. You’re always rude right off the bat and then I gotta cover for you.”

“You’re the one who’s gonna ruin it,” Gauze retorted, ignoring her brother’s scolding. She jogged a few steps to catch up with him. “Butterscotch? Nasty. What are you, a little old grandpa? Besides,” she added, “why would she make something for us? What’s she get out of it?”

Sticks shrugged again, and sighed. “I dunno. Maybe she’s just nice. Some people are.” He pointed in her general direction. “She cleaned up your forehead and didn’t ask for anything, right?”

“Not yet,” Gauze grumbled, picking at the bandage. The gash, or whatever was left of it, really itched. But if Goat La… if Toriel thought Gauze owed her so much as a ‘thank you’ she had another thing coming. They hadn’t asked for her help. Even if she hadn’t shown up, Gauze was sure they could have come up with a last-second move to kick that plant’s roots right up through its gross teeth.

Oh, well.

The big, stone house was impossible to miss, but the old goat still fussed over them for finding their way on their own. Gauze rolled her eyes while Toriel checked them both over for injuries, as if they could have gotten in trouble. Girl, please. The walk from their old foster home to the corner convenience store was more dangerous than these ruins.

She’d actually been hoping for a rumble, but any monster who did step up to them stepped right back down when Sticks mentioned Toriel’s name.

Gauze stared at the goat’s back as she led them inside the old but welcoming house. It was clear from the other monsters’ reactions who ran this neighborhood, but it didn’t seem like a natural fit. Take away the fangs and claws and horns, and Toriel could be just another crazy cat lady or someone’s spinster aunt, or something. The type that never cussed and went to church three times a week. She didn’t seem like some big-shot. And even with the fangs and claws and fire, she wasn’t that intimidating at all. She spoke quietly and bustled everywhere. Her house was filled with books and potted plants. And what was she wearing, anyway? A purple mumu?

Not that Gauze trusted the ‘sweet auntie’ front, but she wasn’t scared of Toriel by a long shot. Maybe all those weird bugs and frogs were just wusses. They couldn’t be that tough if they tried to pick on a couple of little kids. Even if said little kids could have sent them off crying.

Toriel opened the first door off the entryway. “You’re welcome to rest while I’m in the kitchen,” she said, gesturing the twins inside. It was a kids’ room, with two beds against opposite walls and a box of old toys in the corner. Everything was covered in a layer of dust, and the air had a musty attic smell.

Sticks stood sniffing the air. “You don’t get many visitors,” he said.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Toriel shook her head sadly, though Sticks wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. “The room will air out a bit with the door open, but give me a moment and I’ll change the bed linens for you.”

“It’s fine,” Sticks said, feeling his way to one of the beds and sitting down. “We can worry about that later.”

Toriel nodded. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

Gauze made for the other bed. “You gonna let us sleep, or what?” She looked back over her shoulder to find Toriel watching her with a weird expression. “What? Got something to say, lady?”

Shaking her head so that her ears flopped back and forth, Toriel raised a claw to dab at her eyes. “Oh, I’m just being a silly old lady.” She smiled. “You remind me of someone, that’s all. Enjoy your rest.”

Toriel disappeared back down the hall, floorboards creaking under her weight. Gauze sat down on her bed and blew out a sigh. Great, she had to deal with psychology now, too.

#

Gauze hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but after a day’s hike up a mountain, falling and hitting her head, and hours’ more walking through the strange ruins she was more worn out than she realized. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night down here, but she woke slowly, groggy like she’d been sleeping hard for hours.

When the door opened and the hulking, silhouetted form of their hostess entered the room Gauze hunkered down under the covers, pretending to be asleep as she watched to see what the creature would do. But Toriel simply set something on the floor in the middle of the room and tiptoed back out, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Gauze counted to one hundred and sat up, kicking the covers aside. The scent of cinnamon and pastry filled the room. In the stillness, the growling of her stomach seemed amplified. Growling back at it, she wrapped her arms around her midsection, trying in vain to muffle the sound.

The clink of metal on china made her jump.

“It’s good,” Sticks said, around a mouthful of whatever cinnamon-smelling thing the goat woman had left. “Still warm. There’s a plate for you, too. Don’t step in it.”

“I won’t,” Gauze hissed. Leave it to Sticks to be quiet and sneaky as a ghost. “You don’t need to spook me like that, damn...” Though to be fair, he might not have been aware that the lights were still off.

She felt along the floor on hands and knees. A sliver of dim light filtered in under the door, but it was a struggle to make out more than movement and basic shapes in the darkness. Sticks, of course, could get around as well in the dark as anywhere. It didn’t make sense to be jealous, but at the moment she was just a little jealous of how graceful he was. Their last foster mom had called her a bull in a china shop, among other, more insulting things. Even in broad daylight she seemed to find every possible way to trip over, run into, and fall off of anything in her path. Not that it ever slowed her down, but still, it wasn’t the most dignified look.

Today had just been the most dramatic example of her lack of grace. Falling into a giant sinkhole? Who did that? Gauze sure did. At least no one had seen it but Sticks. Well, figuratively.

Gauze’s hand slapped against the edge of a plate. With a bit more fumbling, she found the fork. “Pie?” She peered down at the dark wedge on the light-colored disk of the plate.

Sticks smacked his lips happily, downing another bite. “Duh,” he said. “What are you, blind?” It was one of their in-jokes ever since his vision had started to go, and Gauze snickered despite her irritation.

The pie was good, as much as she hated to admit it. After going all day on an empty stomach, it took all her willpower to eat slowly, savoring each spicy-sweet bite. Toriel knew her way around a kitchen. Their last foster mom couldn’t manage anything more complicated than fish-sticks.

“I was wondering what that question was about.” Sticks set his plate down silently. “Maybe cinnamon isn’t totally gross.”

Gauze scraped up crumbs with her fork. “And butt-scotch isn’t too nasty as long as it’s with something good,” she fired back. As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t mind another piece. She was hungry, and one slice of pie wasn’t going to cut it. “You think she’s still up?”

Sticks yawned. “I don’t even know what time it is, how should I know?” He leaned back against the side of his bed. “So what if she is? She’s nice. I don’t think we need to sneak around this time.”

“They’re always nice at the start.” Their last foster mom had been the same deal, a real save-the-children type. Until Gauze and Sticks proved to be less than perfect, grateful, Disney-movie orphans. Until their saintly ‘New Mom’ got tired of them. And it was infuriating that Gauze had already started to think of Toriel the same way. It was the way the goat acted, all motherly and ingratiating. Trying really hard to make them feel welcome.

A dusty room full of kids’ stuff and no kids. It didn’t take much brains to figure out Toriel’s sob story.

Well, it didn’t matter. Gauze hadn’t walked away from one disaster just to land in another. Human or fire-slinging goat monster, an adult was an adult, and no adult had ever given them jack crap that they hadn’t paid for with interest.

Besides, they had each other. Sticks was basically a genius, and Gauze had the hustle to get their money up so no one could ever mess with either of them. They didn’t need folks.

As if reading her mind, Sticks said, “We can at least stay until we’re sure your head’s better. What’s a few good meals and sleeping in a real bed gonna hurt?”

Gauze crossed her arms. “Don’t need her charity.” They didn’t need one more adult feeling they were owed gratitude. To hell with that.

“She’s obviously lonely. And she’s been helping us all day, and she fed us. I didn’t argue when you wanted to run away,” Sticks said, and though it was dark the tone of his voice suggested a frown. “I followed you all the way up a mountain, and down here, wherever ‘here’ is. I’m tired, and I smell bad. What’s your hurry, anyway? Give me a break.”

“Tch,” Gauze said, but that was the end of it. It took a lot to wear out her brother’s patience, but once that last thread snapped he put his foot down and didn’t move it for anything. And, honestly, she felt bad about all the crap she’d dragged him through today. If Sticks was tired, they’d rest here.

“Good.” Sticks’ tone eased, recognizing her verbal surrender. “It won’t be that bad, sis,” he went on, half-apologetic. “And it’s not like we can’t leave whenever, right?”

Sulking, Gauze shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Sticks clambered to his feet, feeling for his stick, which he’d propped up against the side of the bed. “Now that that’s settled, I intend to get some more of that pie. I only got one free hand, so if you want another slice you gotta come along and carry it yourself.”

“I’m taking the whole pan,” Gauze said, fully serious. She dared the goat to say anything about it, too. They’d see if Sticks was right about her soon enough. She lunged for the door.

“Hey!” Sticks stammered, feeling the wind of her passing him in the dark. “You better share!”

Gauze laughed, happy to put the brief disagreement behind them in favor of more important matters. Like food. “Law of the jungle, bro. You want another piece, you gotta hustle up!”

She skidded to a halt at the entrance to the front room, where Toriel sat reading by lamplight. The goat blinked at her through a pair of reading glasses, smiling a small, fanged smile. “Yes? Do you need something, child?”

“Came for the rest of that pie,” Gauze said, feeling ridiculous at the sound of her own words. She stood her ground, trying to look more tough than petulant. Sticks’ stick clicked against the floorboards as he caught up with her.

“Of course, child,” Toriel said, removing her glasses. “Have as much as you like. I made it for you two, after all.”

Sticks halted at Gauze’s side. “We’ll save you a piece,” he said, diplomatically. Why did he always have to coddle adults like that? Well, whatever. Gauze had already issued her challenge to the old goat and won.

Toriel shook her head. “Oh, that’s kind of you, child, but please don’t worry about it.” She put her glasses back on and turned her eyes back to her book. “I’m not terribly fond of butterscotch.”

Huh. Gause grinned in spite of herself. Maybe the old lady wasn’t all bad.

 


	4. The one where Gauze gets to hit something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For leafbladie, the "Frisk" twins continuing misadventures.  
> Content: PG-rated violence, mild cursing since Gauze is a street soldier like that.

The forest had sucked. Without coats, they’d almost frozen solid in the snow. Why was there snow underground, anyway? And how were trees and crap growing with no sun? The place made no sense at all.

Gauze shared her many criticisms of the Underground while she and Sticks picked their way through the dark caverns. It was damp and smelled like mildew, but at least the air was getting warmer the farther they got from Stupid Snow Land. The glowing mushrooms made it a little easier for Gauze to see where she was going, too. Of course, they did no good to Sticks, who tripped in an out of puddles as they walked.

“And what was up with that corny skeleton, huh?” Gauze said, hopping over a small stream. “Goon wouldn’t even fight for real!”

“He still knocked you on your butt like three times.” Sticks rapped his walking stick against the ground, listening for the splash of water so he could step over it. Moving water wasn’t as much of a problem for him, since the burbling sound gave him some advance warning.

Gauze’s cheeks burned with remembered embarrassment. “Only ‘cause he cheated!”

“Well, which is it?” Sticks said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Was he pulling punches or cheating?”

“Both!”

“The way I remember it, by the time you went back the third time he was telling you when to jump so you wouldn’t get hit. And you kept getting hit anyways.” He laughed. “You never could get the hang of jump-rope or dodge-ball or nothing. Pretty sure he let us pass just ‘cause he felt bad for you.”

“Man, shut up! It’s not like you were helping.” On the contrary, once it had become obvious that the goon wasn’t going to hurt her for real, Sticks had a good laugh at her expense. Reminded of it now, it took all of Gauze’s willpower not to throw a clump of mud at him.

Sticks shrugged. “His brother wasn’t helping him, either.”

“Whatever,” Gauze snorted. “I coulda kicked his ass if he hadn’t been cheating. I wasn’t even really trying, anyway.”

“Yeah, cause his brother had you too spooked about it.”

“I ain’t scared of him!” Gauze insisted. “He was smart enough to stay away, or I’d have kicked his fat ass, too!”

Sticks made a doubtful noise. “Can he be fat if he’s just bones?” he added, just to be a pain in the neck.

“He can be a punk I ain’t scared of,” Gauze grumbled. She wasn’t scared of him. Just because he kept showing up out of nowhere and pulled that creepy Evil Dead shit when Gauze told him she was gonna knock his brother’s lights out…

Her heel slid in the mud, and she let out an offended yell as she fell in a shallow pool.

“Hey,” Sticks hissed, all trace of good humor vanishing instantly. “Don’t be so loud!”

He held out his hand in her general direction to help her up. They stood in silence for a minute, listening for armored footsteps. The skeleton goon’s considerably scarier boss had already chased them all around the caverns today and last night. They hadn’t slept, too on edge to try to rest.

Gauze was getting real sick of running away. Having to walk around with her socks squishing in her shoes was a special kind of Hell all on its own. And now the rest of her clothes were drenched, thanks to her fall. She was tired, she was hungry, and she smelled like an armpit. Sticks was as soggy as she was, and had a bruise forming on his arm where he’d blundered into an outcropping the last time they’d had to make a hasty escape. Everything sucked.

She didn’t appreciate this jerk picking on them. What kind of loser had to mess with a couple little kids for kicks, anyway? What a no-account punk! The more Gauze thought about it, the madder she got. With icy water dripping from her clothes and pond scum clinging to her sneakers she fumed at the injustice of it all.

There was a clatter of metal on metal behind them. Sticks turned nervously this way and that, trying to sort the source of the noise from the echoes bouncing off the walls.

“I’ve had enough of this crap,” Gauze said. She turned to face the same direction Sticks was, glaring into the darkness.

Sticks frowned. “We need to go. Where’s an exit?”

“I ain’t running. This chick is fixing to get a beat-down for making us run around like cockroaches when the lights flip on.”

“This isn’t the time for you to get mad and stupid, okay?” Sticks snapped. He fumbled for her arm and tugged at it. “She’s not like the others. I don’t think she’ll let up if you get hurt.”

Gauze planted her feet. She was stronger than Sticks, and if she didn’t want to move there wasn’t much he could do to budge her. “She’s the one who’s about to get hurt. I ain’t having this, Sticks.”

A voice, rough and somehow watery, boomed along the cavern walls. “I can hear you, humans! Stop running and face your destruction!”

“Oh, you wanna go?” Gauze called back. “You want some of this?”

She was answered by a cyan bolt that sailed out of the darkness toward her. Cursing, she shoved Sticks out of the way as the attack flew past, close enough to singe the ends of her hair.

Sticks picked himself up, shaking and swiping at the mud streaking the front of his ruined sweater. Gauze gave him another push, herding him toward the cave wall.

“Just stay outta the way while I knock this creep’s teeth in,” Gauze said, turning back toward their pursuer.

“Gauze!”

Sticks made a grab for her, but she was well out of arm’s reach already, squaring off on a patch of the cave floor that was flat and fairly dry. She brought her fists up, glaring into the darkness. The footsteps were loud, bouncing off the rocks. The punk was close now.

A massive figure stepped from the shadows, the soft blue light of the mushrooms reflecting off her armor.

Gauze swiped at her nose with her thumb, unimpressed. “Real tough, wearing body armor to go after a couple little kids!” It actually looked pretty badass, in a nerdy, Dungeons and Dragons kind of way, but like hell was Gauze going to say so.

The armored figure straighted up, offended. “This is standard issue! I’m on duty!”

“Yeah, that’s real gangsta,” Gauze went on, sneering. “Guess you must be scared of me, huh? Chicken?”

“I fear no human!” The figure stomped her feet.

Gauze braced her hands on her hips. “Then why don’t you take those rusty cans off and fight me fair, huh? You’re already like seven feet tall! What, that ain’t enough?”

The figure snarled. “Your psychological tricks won’t work on me, human!”

“Chicken!” Gauze crowed, flapping her elbows. “You’re a punk-ass chicken! Scared of a little kid! Chicken!”

“I’m not scared!” Furious, the figure started shucking off plates of armor. “I’ll show you chicken!” She pulled off her helmet, revealing one enraged yellow eye and huge, jagged teeth.

“Nice choppers,” Gauze sneered. “What, your mama couldn’t get you braces?”

Without the armor, the fish monster was actually super skinny. At least she was tall and rough-looking. Gauze was a bit envious— this chick probably never got people patting her on the head and telling her she’d look so pretty if she’d just brush her hair and smile.

The fish monster squared off, fists raised to match Gauze’s. “You’re the one who’ll need orthodontics! You have one last chance to relinquish your soul peacefully.”

“That sounds like a lame deal to me,” Gauze said.

“Then I, Undyne, Captain of the Royal Guard, have no choice but to take it from you by force!”

Gauze shrugged. “Whatever, hater. Are you gonna do anything but holler at me?”

“Very well,” Undyne said. Quick as a flash, she lobbed another spear.

With no time to get out of the way, Gauze braced herself, arm barred in front of her face. Instead of getting skewered, though, there was only a heavy thump against her arm. She looked up over the edge of a shimmering green shield at her attacker.

What?

Gauze frowned. “Fool, did you just block it for me?”

Undyne chuckled. “You’re facing me head-on, and that’s worth some respect. If I have my spears, you’re entitled to more than your bare fists.”

…Okay, so that was kinda gangsta. A little. Gauze blocked the next spear, and the one after that. She couldn’t just stand there and block all day, though. She’d get tired, and worse, she’d get bored. Besides, everyone knew the best defense was a good offense.

After a few more throws, Gauze spied an opening when Undyne paused to take a breath. Charging ahead, she jumped at Undyne, swinging the shield up to crack her across the face.

Undyne staggered back, out of surprise if nothing else. “Ouch!”

As Gauze scrambled back out of reach, Undyne rubbed at her jaw. “That actually smarts, brat. Good job.” She nodded slightly, approving.

Off by the wall, Sticks was getting increasingly agitated. “What’s going on?” he called to Gauze.

Gauze was too wrapped up in the fight to answer. “Yeah!” she crowed, beaming with pride. “There’s more where that came from, fish-stick!”

They traded more insults than blows for the next few minutes, but Gauze felt her bad mood evaporating. She was actually having fun! Undyne wasn’t treating her like a helpless baby, and she wasn’t cheating, either. All her irritation and fear over the last day could let itself out, and the punk-ass fish seemed to be enjoying herself just as much.

It was all fun and games, in fact, until Sticks decided he’d had enough of just listening to the fight and waded right into the middle of it.

“That’s enough!” he hollered, swinging his stick around like crazy. “Gauze, knock it off before you get hurt!”

Like a punctuation mark on his sentence, the end of the stick came down on Gauze’s head. Hard.

Stars popped behind her eyes, and Gauze went down like a bag of rocks. “Ow ow ow, son of a…” She hissed, clutching at her head. “That was right on the lump from before, butthead!”

Sticks was at her side right away, tripping over her legs. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to get you,” he said. “Is it bleeding?”

Gauze pulled her hand away from her temple and looked at it. “No,” she said, trying not to sniffle as tears pricked at her eyes. “But it still hurts! What did you do that for?”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Sticks said, lamely. “It was loud, and you wouldn’t tell me what was going on and I guess I freaked out.”

“Stupid,” Gauze snapped, but she couldn’t really stay mad at him. He’d only been trying to help, and usually he could, but the echoes in here probably made it harder to figure out where everyone was. “I wanted you to stay back so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

Sticks flinched away as Undyne crouched down near them, but Gauze stayed put. You could learn a lot about someone by having a rumble, and she figured the fish-stick wouldn’t kick her while she was down.

“A head injury?” Undyne asked gruffly. “It won’t be a fair fight if you’re concussed.”

Gauze’s pride wanted her to insist that she was fine, shake it off, and get back up and back to the fight. Sticks was miserable, though. And her head really hurt. Who would have thought Sticks could swing that hard with his skinny little frog arms?

“I’ve had worse,” Gauze said, trying to save face. “But my brother’ll flip if I don’t take a break. We can try to kill each other later, maybe?”

Undyne nodded, looking a little disappointed. Hell, Gauze was disappointed, too. Just when the brawl had been getting really good! “You fought with courage, human. We can finish this later.”

Gauze expected her to stalk away into the darkness. She did not expect to be scooped up in a pair of scaly arms.

“Hey!” She kicked and flailed. Sticks did his part by whaling on Undyne’s legs with his stick, but she was as immovable as a mountain.

“It would be shameful of me to leave you in this fragile state,” she said, striding through the cave and leaving Sticks with little choice but to grab onto her tank top and follow along. “I know someone who may know about damage to humans— he’s old enough, anyway. Our next battle won’t be satisfying unless you’re at full strength when we meet again!”

Oh, just great. More old fogies to fuss at her. Gauze settled into Undyne’s hold, arms crossed as mad as ever. “You’re such a punk, fish-stick,” she grumbled.

Undyne gave her a pointy smile.


	5. No-show (UT/Grim Fandango x-over)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For babycharmander, who had the excellent idea of Manny Calavera getting mixed up in the Underground during a King MTT neutral ending.  
> Content: smoking (it's Manny, c'mon...)

Placing a cigarette between his teeth, Manny lit up and took a thoughtful drag. He’d left his robe and platforms in the car— the climb down here had been difficult enough without the risk of getting tangled up in his uniform and falling. Not that it would have killed him (that ship had long since sailed), but no one wanted to be ushered into the Great Beyond by an agent who was all ratty and smudged with dirt. Better a clean suit than a torn-up robe. Sometimes death didn’t go by the book.

 

And wasn’t that the truth? Manny sighed, smoke trailing out and upward through parted teeth. He stared down at the body. There was nothing unusual about it for a falling death: limbs twisted at unnatural angles, neck broken, dry eyes staring out at nothing much. Just a nature hike gone bad. She might have picked a more convenient spot, but it wasn’t an agent’s place to hassle the newly departed, who were by and large already having a pretty bad day to begin with. All Manny had to do was reap them and get them back to the Eighth Underworld, and preferably set them up with a nice travel package for their Journey.

 

All of which Manny would be all too happy to do, _if he could find the damn soul._

 

“Por favor…” he grumbled, pacing around the body for the dozenth time, as if that would somehow conjure the missing soul out of thin air. Had someone else scooped him? If so, there was going to be a reckoning when he got back to the office. This was _his_ assignment.

 

A sound echoed along the cave walls— distant voices, though Manny couldn’t make out the words. With no better leads, he walked toward the source of the sounds. If his new client hadn’t been alone, then maybe the body had been moved by the survivors, which meant the soul would still be at the original place of death.

 

As he rounded a bend, two unfamiliar figures came into view. It was impossible to tell which of them was the agent since they were out of uniform, but then so was he. Manny scowled. So someone _had_ beaten him here. Or else there’d been some kind of clerical error and the same assignment had been sent to multiple offices. Either way, it looked like he’d climbed down here in wingtips and his best wool suit for nothing.

 

…But wait. Manny pulled the case assignment from his breast pocket and looked it over again. “Edith Jackson, age thirty-seven, died from a broken neck,” he muttered aloud. The rest of the information was beside the point. Now that he was closer and could hear the (plainly male) voices more clearly, it was obvious that neither of the pair were his client. Where was she, then?

 

Annoyed and starting to smell a rat, Manny stepped into the open and approached, an easy smile plastered on his face. The duo halted their conversation and turned to watch him.

 

“Buenos días!” Manny called out cheerfully. Something about the mens’ posture signaled a warning, and he raised one hand in a placating wave. What had them so jumpy? “Have either of you gentlemen seen a new soul wandering around down here?”

 

Despite having a more jovial face than the average skull, the look the shorter man gave him was anything but friendly. His taller companion smiled broadly, returning Manny’s wave. For some reason, he was wearing dark glasses as though that made any sense in a cave. How was he able to find his way around down here? Echolocation?

 

“Yes! As you can see,” the tall man chirped, patting a canister that he held slung over one shoulder by a canvas strap, “we have the situation well in hand. But thank you for your diligence!”

 

Manny’s gaze snapped onto the canister. What _was_ that thing? He’d never seen anything quite like it. Something about it felt vaguely sinister.

 

“Yeah, we got this,” the shorter man said, hands shoved oh-so-casually in the pockets of his jacket. “You can run along now, buddy.”

 

The taller man clipped him upside the skull. “Sans, don’t be rude! This upstanding and clean-cut citizen was merely trying to assist us. Nice suit, by the way,” the man said to Manny, and turned his attention back to his companion. “Why can’t you dress more like that?”

 

“Sure, bro.” Sans feigned nonchalance, but kept up his challenging stare. The guy was a pro when it came to staring. Manny fought the urge to fidget, feeling like a bug under a microscope.

 

These two were not travel agents. Manny wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just walked into, other than possibly more trouble than he could handle. His gaze returned to the odd canister, discomfited by it but unsure why. Whatever mess he was in now, he had a feeling his client was having a far worse time. Souls needed to be reaped. They didn’t belong in the Land of the Living. He was sure something bad would happen to her if she were left here too long.

 

Another thing Manny was sure of was that Ms Jackson was likely the best commission he’d seen in months. He wasn’t leaving without her.

 

“So,” Manny said, tapping a fresh cigarette out of the pack, “busy day?” He held the pack out in offering, hoping they were smokers. Cigarettes made excellent ice breakers, in his experience.

 

“No, thank you,” the taller man said, slapping his companion’s hand away from the pack much to Manny’s irritation. “Those things are extremely unhealthy. But yes,” he went on, before Manny could ask whether he seriously thought he was liable to get lung cancer, “it has been a very trying day. Thankfully, it was nothing The Great Papyrus couldn’t handle!”

 

“Yeah, you did great, bro,” Sans said, giving the taller man a gentle nudge with his elbow. “You probably don’t gotta share with every random stranger, eh?”

 

Manny struck his lighter, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the damp of the cave while he lit his cigarette. “Strangers? That’s easily fixed, isn’t it, amigo?” He extended his hand. “Manuel Calavera,” he said, “but my friends all call me Manny. I’m a travel agent.”

 

Sans conspicuously ignored him, but Papyrus (the allegedly great, albeit Manny had never found anyone who talked about themselves in the third person to be all that great) shook his hand enthusiastically.

 

“Manny! What an unusual name!” Papyrus had a very firm handshake, to the point that Manny was a little worried that his arm would pop out of its socket. “And that sounds like such an interesting career!”

 

“Where’s anyone gonna take a vacation down here?” Sans asked, playing his interrogation off as a joking comment.

 

Manny smiled. This guy was starting to get on his nerves. He preferred Papyrus’ credulity. “Oh, I don’t deal in vacations, menso. I specialize in the journeys of a lifetime.”

 

Papyrus made an appreciative sound. “Oh, do you hear that, Sans? How cool!” He sighed wistfully. “I wish we could take a trip.”

 

“Don’t we all,” said Sans, still giving Manny the hairy eyeball. What was his problem? Anyone that suspicious had to be up to something. “Bro, we should get back to the palace. The king’s gonna want to see this.”

 

…King? Alright, now Manny was really thrown for a loop. There wasn’t time for confusion, however, as the pair turned to leave. If he wanted to figure out what had happened to his client, he needed to stick close to these two. He was sure they were involved somehow.

 

“What a coincidence!” Manny said, forcing a smile. “I was just headed that way myself. Say,” he said, clapping Papyrus on the shoulder, “we should all go together! You know, for safety.”

 

As he’d predicted, Papyrus lit up at the suggestion. “What a terrific idea! Worry not, new friend Manny— Sans and I will make sure you make it to New Home with all due haste and in perfect security, or I’m not the Great Papyrus!”

 

Manny had this kid figured out. Ego was the string to pull. “Gracias, amigo. I feel better already.”

 

He felt a glare on him, and couldn’t help aiming a smirk at Sans as they set off. Let the shifty punk glare all he wanted. Sans clearly wasn’t the one calling the shots. All he could do was roll with this and try to uncover Manny’s angle— a task that Manny didn’t intend to make easy.

 

 _Well, Ms Jackson_ , he thought as the pair led him deeper into the caves, _let’s see if they’ll take me to you._

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Spider shakedown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For leafbladie, a continuation of the twin Frisk misadventures, this time featuring Muffet.  
> Content: spiders!

Gauze scratched at the clean bandage wrapped around her head. Undyne’s friend, the old turtle dude, had put some sticky goop that smelled like mint and old socks on her bump and covered it with strips of linen that had her feeling like one of the mummies from a crummy old black-and-white movie. The goop made her head hurt a lot less, though, and he’d said she was tough for not crying. She’d waved the compliment off because Undyne had been there and she had a rep to maintain, but she’d been more than a little proud. Hell yeah, she was tough!

 

That old dude had been kinda cool, for a geezer with bad breath. He’d sent them off with a buttload of apples and juice boxes, too, so they had snacks. Apples were kind of a lame snack, but hey— free food.

 

“Do you think we’ll run into Undyne again?” Sticks mumbled, through a mouthful of sour apple.

 

Gauze scoffed. “I’m bettin’ she’ll want a rematch, since I was winning.” She hoped for a rematch, anyway. Undyne had parted from them in a friendlier way than she’d expected, once it got out that Gauze had let her goofy-ass skeleton friend beat her (which was _absolutely_ what happened, and he’d been cheating, anyway).

 

“Didn’t sound like you were winning to me.”

 

“Man, shut up! I would have won if you hadn’t butted in. I was about to get her with a crazy jump kick.” Gauze leapt up and kicked the air. She’d seen enough Bruce Lee movies to know what all the best moves were. It was too bad Sticks couldn’t see how sick her kick looked.

 

Sticks chewed his apple thoughtfully, unmoved. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Gauze hated when he did that, acting all cool and calling her out like she was full of crap. She kicked a rock in her path, but instead of hearing it clatter off a cavern wall or skip along the floor, there was silence. She looked up to see the rock stuck in a thick cobweb, the web shaking back and forth like a drum skin from the impact.

 

Oh, nasty! As they walked on, she noticed more and more webs, until even the ground was vaguely sticky with silk. She didn’t even want to look up.

 

“We should find a better path,” she said, with forced nonchalance. “This one looks lame.”

 

Sticks ambled along without a care in the world. “Why? We’d have to backtrack for, like, an hour.” He tossed his apple core over his shoulder, where it stuck in another thick web.

 

“It’s just, I dunno, _dirty_ down here,” Gauze said, dragging her feet.

 

“So? Everywhere down here is kinda dirty.” Sticks shrugged, heedless of the thickening webs. “Since when do you care about staying clean, anyway?”

 

Gauze could feel her face heating up, but it was nothing compared to the squiggly queasiness in her guts. “There’s bugs and crap in here, okay? Stupid spiders and stuff.”

 

She was _not_ afraid of spiders. That would be lame as crap and decidedly not gangsta. Spiders were just little balls of nothing that didn’t bite any worse than mosquitoes did. …And they had creepy legs, and weird swollen butts, and a million eyes, and they creeped around like…like something gross and they got in your hair and laid eggs in your ears and crawled in your mouth while you were sleeping…

 

On a long, thin thread of silk, a little gray spider lowered down in front of Gauze’s face. She nearly walked right into it.

 

“Gah!” Gauze batted it away, heart pounding.

 

Sticks froze, bringing his stick up ready to smack something— though he’d probably just jack Gauze upside the head again. “What? What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Gauze said, red in the face and shaking. “Just a dumbass spider surprised me, is all. Can we turn around now?”

 

Sighing, Sticks relaxed and kept walking the same direction. “They can’t hurt you, you know. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

 

“I ain’t scared!” Gauze protested. “They’re gross. I was grossed out. That’s not the same. You can’t see them, so you don’t get it.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Sticks repeated, in that long-suffering tone Gauze couldn’t stand. “Here, I’ll walk in front, and then I can knock down the webs and stuff for you.”

 

Gauze didn’t want to be treated like a baby, but she also didn’t want to walk into a cobweb. Just thinking about it made her scrub at her arms to dislodge imagined silk. Nasty…

 

They’d only been walking single file for ten minutes or so when a weird chittering noise started.

 

“What’s that mess about, man?” Gauze tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. Spiders didn’t make noise, did they? That was crickets that did that stuff. Right?

 

Sticks shrugged, though his shoulders bunched up around his ears. “I dunno. Crickets?”

 

A voice echoed through the cavern. “Oh, my! Have you heard the gossip?”

 

Shivers ran down Gauze’s spine. “What was that junk?” That was the creepiest, most Blair Witch, Halloween haunted house sounding voice she’d ever heard.

 

“Chill, sis, people live down here. Nothing to flip out over.”

“I ain’t flipping out!”

 

“I heard,” the witchy voice went on, the thick silk on the walls deadening the echoes, “that there’s a couple of urchins roaming the neighborhood who are frightfully rude.”

 

At least the voice was something to focus on other than the cobwebs, but whoever it was was giving Gauze mad creeps. That chittering noise was getting louder, too.

 

“It’s disgraceful that we have to put up with gangs of juvenile delinquents in what used to be such a nice neighborhood,” the voice said. It was closer now.

 

Sticks slowed. “You still wanna turn around?”

 

Yes, Gauze did want to turn around. That chittering was making her skin crawl, and the walls of the cavern were so thick with cobwebs it looked like the inside of a cocoon.

 

…But running away from some nose-in-the-air snob was even more out of the question than running away from a bunch of punk-ass spiders that couldn’t hurt her no matter how gross they were, and no matter how creepy the snob’s voice was. Gauze forged ahead. Maybe they were close to the exit, which meant going backward would just make them have to deal with the webs and creepiness longer than they had to. She could see light up ahead, so they must be close.

 

They exited into a larger cave where light filtered down from a higher cavern. A lady sat under the light, legs daintily crossed, sipping tea from a china cup. At first, she looked to be floating in midair, but as the pair got closer Gauze could make out the cord of silk she hung from.

 

“Well,” the lady said with that same witchy voice, sounding not at all surprised to see a couple kids barging into her cavern. “I suppose the gossip mill is accurate this time. Breaking and entering, how very rude!” She turned a five-eyed glare on Gauze. “And you, young lady, ought to be ashamed of your conduct.”

 

Gauze clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She could feel her knees shaking as he stared back at the spider lady. As if regular spiders weren’t bad enough…

 

The spider lady raised her arms, an entirely different set of arms from the ones still holding her cup and saucer, and at once the walls and floor seethed with gray and black shapes.

 

They were all spiders. Thousands, zillions of spiders. Gauze shrieked, clinging to Sticks’ arm as the exits were blocked by masses of tiny, writhing bodies.

 

Sticks flailed, thrown off balance by Gauze’s weight. “Sis, watch it! What’s going on?”

 

“Bugs!” Gauze yelled, unable to even slightly approach any chill. “So many bugs! It’s so gross, man, oh my god!”

 

“Uncouth _and_ ignorant,” the spider woman said, lowering herself to the floor. “You must attend a public school, my word.” She closed a few eyes and shook her head. “Dearie, arachnids are not ‘bugs.’ I’ve yet to meet the insect that can truly appreciate a perfectly executed puff pastry.”

 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Sticks said, using his best talking-to-adults tone. “We’re sorry if we’re in your house. I was leading the way, and I’m blind, so I didn’t notice. Could you stop scaring my sister, please?”

 

“I ain’t s-scared!” Gauze insisted, tears welling in her eyes. “They’re just gross!”

 

The spider woman frowned, clicking her tongue reproachfully. “What an unmannerly little girl. I have half a mind to feed you to my pet.” She turned to look into an especially dark corner of the cavern. “Oh, Cupcake! Here, sweetie!”

 

A huge, multi-legged bug thing scuttled into view like a nightmare with frosting and sprinkles. On the bright side, Gauze wasn’t half as worried about the spiders now.

 

“Cupcake, heel!”

 

At the spider lady’s command, the thing crouched down, tongue panting out from between its huge mandibles.

 

“Now,” the spider lady said, taking another delicate sip of her tea. “I think you owe someone an apology, don’t you, dearie?”

 

Gauze’s supply of bravado had been all used up by the walk through the cobwebs a long time ago. This snobby spider had her outmatched, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “Sorry I called you gross,” she said, and swallowed the remainder of her pride. “Ma’am.”

 

“Miss Muffet will do, dearie,” the lady said, tutting. “And I was referring to the dear little subject of mine whom you so cruelly assaulted.”

 

A small gray spider crept out of Muffet’s sleeve. It looked at Gauze with its zillion faceted eyes.

 

Muffet glanced down at the spider. “Is this her, dearie?”

 

Gauze was pretty sure spiders didn’t have necks, but this one gave a tiny nod, raising one spindly leg to dab at minuscule tears.

 

Gauze blinked. Was that the same spider she’d batted away from her face earlier?

 

“I think you’ve caused quite enough of a ruckus today, dearies.” Muffet held the spider out close. “Do you have something you’d like to say to young Archibald?”

 

Was she really expected to apologize to a dumb nasty spider? Gauze looked the spider in its eyes, trying to keep her apples down. So gross. “I’m…sorry,” she said.

 

“Sorry for what, dearie?”

 

Gauze frowned. “I’m sorry I swatted you…Archie?”

 

The spider bobbed up and down on Muffet’s arm, then leapt to the ground and scuttled away.

 

Muffet nodded primly. “Thank you, dearie.”

 

“So,” Sticks said, “Can we go now? I mean, may we go now?”

 

Muffet laughed. “One more thing,” she said, and held out one of her hands. “Your apology would hold a great deal more sincerity with an accompanying donation to our fundraiser to bring our fellow spiders in the Ruins home.”

 

Was this a shakedown? In any other circumstance, Gauze would have told this lady where she could put her fundraiser. Muffet had big fangs, though, and her attack…whatever (no way was it a dog) wasn’t something she wanted to tangle with just now. Under the circumstances, she merely grumbled and turned out her pockets. She had a linty piece of gum, a nickel, and a safety pin. Sticks had a crumpled dollar bill and a rubber band.

 

Muffet curled her lip at the offering, exposing one wicked-looking fang. “Is that really the best you can do?”

 

“Lady,” Gauze snapped, not too frightened to take offense, “do we look like we got paper? Quit riding us, damn!”

 

Sticks elbowed her hard, shutting her up before she could talk their way into getting their brains slurped out by a spider army. “If you want,” he said, “we could collect donations for you? We used to do fundraisers at school, and everyone gives money to the blind kid.” He grinned, waving a hand in front of his face.

 

Muffet gave him a considering look.

 

“Yeah,” Gauze said, following her brother’s lead. “We could drum up some mad sympathy. Back home, everyone’s always passing the hat for hospital bills or a lawyer or whatever. I can make you a poster or something, or a petition, you know? Free the spiders! Have a candlelight vigil or some crap like that.”

 

Sticks nodded. “Yeah, people love that stuff. You’ll get money a lot faster making people feel bad for you than you will trying to strong-arm them.”

 

“Is that so?” Muffet stroked her chin. “Yes, I suppose that might be worth a try, dearies. Candlelight vigil,” she said, looking thoughtful. “My goodness, what an idea.”

 

“So, we’re good to go, then?” Gauze said, eying the nearest spider-infested exit.

 

“To start collecting donations, she means,” Sticks added.

 

“I suppose so,” Muffet said, flicking a wrist and making the spiders scurry back up the walls, leaving the cavern exits open. “I trust I won’t hear of any more hooliganism on your part, dearie?” She aimed a piercing look at Gauze.

 

“No, ma’am,” Gauze said, recognizing game when she saw it. She needed to practice bossing up like this. For a chick named after a nursery rhyme, Muffet was stone cold.

 

A small group of spiders marched up to them, thankfully staying closer to Sticks than Gauze. On their backs, they bore a plate containing two crescent rolls.

 

“Do accept some refreshment, dearies, before you go,” Muffet said, gesturing to the plate. “Though you barged in uninvited, it would be inhospitable not to offer a croissant. Perhaps while you’re soliciting, you could recommend them at our convenient bake sale locations.”

 

Gingerly, Gauze reached down and took the crescent rolls, giving one to Sticks. They were a funny color for bread, but they tasted pretty good. It made a nice change from apples.

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sticks said, careful not to spray crumbs. “They’re really good.”

 

Muffet liked that, if her smile was to be trusted. “Why, of course,” she said. “They’re made by our best spider bakers from our best spider ingredients.”

 

Gauze looked down at her roll, and spied a spindly leg poking out where she’d taken a bite. Bile rose in her throat.

 

…Sick. This lady really _was_ stone cold.

 

 

 


	7. Two weary time-travelers walk into a bar. [Punchline not found.] (UT/PMMM xover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leafbladie suggested Homura in the Underground. Hopefully I didn't mangle her too badly!  
> Content: none.

The hotel restaurant was all but deserted. Each time Homura had visited this place, it was a slow evening. A few scattered monsters spoke in low tones over fruit parfaits as they always did. Most of the tables were empty, chairs turned upside down on top of them to make way for the night’s cleaning staff. Soft piano music filled the gaps in their conversations, piped in through hidden speakers. The stage on the north side of the room was empty, curtain drawn. Homura had never seen it in use. She assumed she was never here at the right time for that.

“Won’t you take a seat?”

Homura stared at the chair next to her, then at the skeleton sitting at the far side of the small table. She didn’t care to hear Sans try to sell her on giving up her quest and resigning herself to live out her days in this labyrinth. Exhortations of friendship and happiness were empty. She hadn’t earned happiness, and she had only one friend. That singular friend, her dear Madoka, was the impetus driving Homura’s attempts to leave this place and return home. No platitudes about finding contentment and making the best of things was ever going to change her mind.

Homura remained standing. “I’m not hungry, thank you.”

“Now, that’s not how this goes,” Sans said, shaking his head in patient amusement. “We sit here and have a nice little conversation, maybe split an order of mozzarella sticks, or something.” He gestured once more at the chair, as if presenting it for her consideration.

Somewhat taken aback, Homura relented and pulled out the chair, curious as to how else the skeleton might surprise her this time. Before she sat down, she reached under the seat and removed the whoopie cushion, placing it on the table without comment.

Sans regarded the object with a rueful smile. “Not gonna humor me, eh?” His gaze was sharp and searching, despite the lack of eyes.

“It’s childish.” In truth, Homura wasn’t concerned with the harmless prank one way or the other. After Sans’ reaction to her turning down his invitation, she’d wanted to administer a small test. His response to her foreknowledge of the prank confirmed her suspicion: he was aware of her time manipulation ability on some level. As to the extent of his knowledge and how he’d come by it, she would have to find out.

“You know, you’re a real serious kid.” Sans leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his skull. “Sometimes the best thing to do is lighten up.”

Homura had learned patience over the many years spent wandering her endless maze. In this new maze, confronted with a creature who knew things he shouldn’t, it was difficult to remain so patient.

“What did you wish to discuss?” Homura sat straight-backed in her chair, hands folded primly on her lap. “And for the sake of efficiency, I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the pretense of aimless frivolity.”

Chuckling, Sans held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s not open mic night yet! This ain’t an act, kid. What you see is what you get.” He gestured at himself, stained jacket and wrinkled t-shirt, and amiable smile.

“Be that as it may, I’d prefer to speak plainly. I have more important things to do than indulge you.”

“Heh. Of course you do.” Sans shook his head slightly. “Ah, kid, you’re gonna wear yourself out if you don’t learn to go with the flow. But sure,” he said, “let’s talk. I’ll start.”

Homura supposed the usual speech was on its way now. She did not allow herself to sigh. “Very well.”

Some kind of tentacled creature in a tuxedo stopped at the table to fill their glasses with ice water. Homura tamped down on the impulse to kill it. Part of her subconscious was still certain the unnatural thing was a witch’s familiar. The whole Underground had the feeling of a witch’s labyrinth, but who was the witch at its center? Homura peered across the table, scrutinizing the animate skeleton smiling back at her.

Only young girls could become witches. Homura knew that perfectly well. Unless they were simply that particular Incubator’s favored prey…

No. No reason to make such an inductive leap on so little evidence. There was at least one other likely candidate, who may very well have been a girl before becoming the twisted thing it was now. They would have to be investigated further, as well.

“You know,” Sans said, taking a sip of water and glancing over one of the menus though Homura was sure he had no intention of ordering any food. “You could have rained on a lot of parades since you got yourself stuck down here. I guess I wanted to say thanks for not doing that.”

There was a ‘this time’ implied in his tone. Homura had truly believed herself to be caught in a witch’s labyrinth at first. She had far from dismissed the possibility— what else could this place be, after all?— but she now approached her quest for escape with far more calm and restraint.

Sans cleared his throat when, after waiting a moment, Homura offered no response. “Yeah, you’ve really been a class act.” Over the rim of his water glass, he studied the buckler on her forearm.

Homura switched her own glass of water to her other hand, lowering the buckler below the edge of the table, out of sight. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down here, and so she hadn’t reverted from her magical form. Her extended vigilance had the unfortunate side effect of making her too casual about having her principle weapon out in plain view, for all that it wasn’t immediately obvious as such.

“That sure is an interesting gizmo you got there,” Sans said mildly. “What is it?”

“It’s mine,” Homura said. Subtly, she took a deep breath to coax the tension from her shoulders. This was a new direction in their repeated conversation, and she disliked it immediately.

Sans sighed. “I thought you wanted plain speaking? Or am I the only one who has to follow that rule?”

“I’m under no obligation to answer your questions.”

“Well. That’s a little rude, frankly.” Sans didn’t look offended, unchanging grin still plastered on his bony face.

Homura sat quietly, unwilling to rise to the bait. If he thought he could cajole her into speaking too openly, he’d find out quickly enough that such a tactic wouldn’t work.

“Just gonna stonewall me, huh?” Sans shrugged and took another sip of water. Defying all expectations, it didn’t dribble out through his jaw.

“You’ve been anything but forthcoming with me,” Homura said, voice carefully measured. “Without reciprocity, I feel no need to share information with you.”

“Fair enough, when you put it that way.” Sans leaned his chair back on two legs. “What’s the password?”

Homura blinked once, confused. Password? She shook her head, the action so slight her long hair barely moved.

Sans’ chair met the floor once more. “Ah, well, that’s a shame. I thought as much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll have to work harder if you want to get on my level, kid.” Sans chuckled, nodding toward the buckler hidden under the tabletop. “If you wanted to tell me what that thing is, I’d wager that would take you pretty far.”

Homura said nothing.

“I have some idea what it is, if you’ll indulge me,” Sans said, leaning special emphasis on the word. “It’s some kind of time machine, is that it?”

Homura bolted to her feet, sending her chair tipping over backward. “Who told you that?”

Sans rested his chin on his hand. “Hey, don’t make a scene, kid. This is a nice place, and I don’t want to get banned— not when open mic night is coming up.” He winked, dousing the light in one eye socket momentarily. “I never miss it, y’know.”

Homura gave a disdainful sniff, righting her chair with a fluid sweep of her leg. “I suppose it must be difficult to miss an event that never arrives.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” Sans said, wagging a finger at her. “Just because you’re not around to see it, doesn’t mean trees aren’t falling in all kinds of forests. Eh, but maybe I’d be better off taking a break for a while.” He shrugged. “My material’s starting to feel a little stale. You know the feeling, right?”

Homura took her seat once more, despite the itch of impatience prodding her to be on her way. It wasn’t as though the king were going anywhere.

Sans nodded his approval. “There you go. What’s the rush, right?”

“How did you learn about my power? Don’t waste my time,” Homura warned.

“Kid, if anyone can afford to waste some time, I suspect it’s you.” Sans doodled on the tablecloth with the condensation from his glass, loops and curlicues darkening the white fabric only slightly, only to vanish as the cloth dried. “I’m an observant guy, and I don’t discount a good explanation just because it doesn’t line up with the accepted dogma of physics.” He tapped the table with his finger. “You have tells, kid.”

Arching a brow, Homura leaned forward a fraction. “Tells?”

Sans scrutinized her for a moment. “You react too soon to some things, and don’t react at all to others, like it’s background noise you’ve already filtered out.” He nodded to the whoopie cushion, still lying forlorn on the table, bereft of its destiny. “You anticipate what folks are going to do or say.”

“Or I simply surmised that you would try that tired practical joke from previous experience,” Homura argued. “You did much the same thing upon our first meeting, and you put ink on the eyepiece of your telescope. A sophomoric sense of humor would lead you to hide this object,” she said, acknowledging the whoopie cushion, “under my chair. You would not be able to help yourself.”

Shaking his head, Sans chuckled. “You got me there, kid. It’s a classic that never gets old. Good thing, too.” He grinned— his permanent smile growing somehow wider. “But you already gave yourself away with your mini freak-out, so there’s no point being a sore loser. How’s that gizmo work?”

Homura took a sip of her water. “It’s magic,” she said, flatly.

“No kidding.” Sans played with the strings of his jacket, twirling them around his fingers. “…You don’t know how it works, do you?”

“I said that it’s magic, and that’s all there is to know.” Homura didn’t have time to waste on empty speculations on the nature of her power. She hadn’t made her wish idly or for her own sake. All of this was for Madoka. It didn’t matter how the buckler worked, only that it did.

“Spoken like a real human. Or,” Sans amended, peering at Homura with an odd sharpness, “something human-adjacent, anyway. Is your time machine related at all to that thing around your soul? Or do you not know that, either?”

Homura was aware of the coolness of the water glass in her hand, her skin suddenly too warm. He shouldn’t know about her soul gem. “That is absolutely no concern of yours.”

Sans sighed. “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to know the password. Jeez, kid, I kinda want to trust you, but it’s a two way street.”

Sitting stiffly in her chair, Homura repressed a scowl. “Explain yourself.”

“Your soul,” Sans said. “Not that I have much in the way of experience with humans, but I know their souls should be floatin’ free and easy inside their bodies, not locked up in a little box like yours is.”

Homura bristled, but kept herself in check. This revelation wasn’t as disquieting as Sans guessing the nature of her power, if given a moment’s thought. Every creature down here seemed able to sense the significance of her soul gem, even if only subconsciously. Beyond that, they could locate it unerringly, and aimed for it in the event of an attack. It made combat uniquely hazardous, despite that they were nearly all weaker than the average witch’s familiar. Sans, being demonstrably brighter than many of his kind, had merely gone a step beyond subconscious attention and applied critical thought to what made Homura different from other humans the creatures here may have encountered.

There was little reason, at this juncture, to assume that Sans would attack her. If he did, however, Homura suspected that he wouldn’t be as honorable an opponent as the beings she’d fought in previous timelines, including his chivalrous (if foolish) brother.

She felt a vague sense of heaviness that she would have chalked up to fatigue, but now recognized as the same magic Sans’ brother employed. Was Sans testing her? Or investigating her for weaknesses?

“I hope for your sake that you’re not attempting to affect my soul in any manner, as I would take that as a direct threat and respond in kind,” Homura said cooly.

The barely perceptible tug on her soul gem ceased.

Interesting. Homura filed the information away for later use.

“Hmm.” Sans leaned forward, chin propped on his hand. Homura’s warning passed over him like water over a stone, and now he was engrossed in his own theorizing. “If you’re harnessing your soul’s power to run that time travel gizmo,” he said, “that’s a pretty risky move.”

“I made my decision fully aware of the risks involved.” That was stretching the truth, perhaps, but Homura was disinclined to cede ground to someone who, she was certain, did not have her best interests at heart.

Not that he’d done anything to cause such a suspicion, but people tended to favor their own agendas. Homura simply worked from the most statistically probable stance. After all, she didn’t have any concern over Sans when making her decisions. There were timelines in which she’d brought great harm to his home and his loved ones in service of escape.

It wasn’t remorse that had made Homura abandon those tactics, but rather that they hadn’t given her the desired outcome. She wouldn’t have hesitated to destroy everything down here if it would have aided her in returning home. It would not, clearly, and so she wouldn’t waste her time on further violence.

“Y’know, I dabble in this kinda thing, myself,” Sans said, standing next to Homura without her having noticed any intervening journey from his side of the table to hers. “I could take a look at it for-”

He reached out to touch the buckler.

Homura jumped back. Her buckler whirred to life, inner workings clicking in clockwork agitation.

All movement in the dining room ceased. The piped-in music and chatter of other diners faded away to a dull static of atomic motion. A monstrous couple seated at a far table sat in a frozen tableau, one of their eyes just visible as they started to lean forward past the frozen waiter to see what the sudden commotion was.

Homura stepped carefully around the arc of water hanging in midair where it was still in the process of spilling from her tipped glass. Sans’ skeletal hand reached out to touch the space where her buckler had been. She moved past it as well, turning on her heel to regard Sans from his left side. It would be trivial to strike a blow now, if only to discourage him from trying something so presumptuous again.

“You’re mistaken if you think I’m not a danger to you,” Homura said, more to herself than her frozen listener, who wouldn’t be able to hear her in his timeless state.

The murky light within his eye socket followed her as she slowly circled him. An optical illusion, of course, but no matter where she stood the light always appeared to meet her eyes. His grin was as frozen as the rest of him, but took on a conspiratorial glint.

Shaken despite herself, Homura completed her circuit, stopping to face Sans head on once more. Once more, his phantom gaze bored into her, as though asking a question, or sharing in a private joke.

“If you can hear me,” she said, allowing herself to entertain the notion, “I would advise you not to try something like that again.”

Feeling her grip on their surroundings becoming strained, she turned and exited the dining room, hair flowing behind her through the thick, still air.

Time resumed itself as Homura left the hotel, a soft clap of air filling the space she’d moved through signaling the retreat of her power. If she strained her ears, she might have been able to make out the glass of water shattering as it finally hit the floor. The easy-listening music resumed over the speakers, the first note warbling slightly as it returned to normal speed.

The crystalline doorman, completing their interrupted step like a statue coming to life, bid her good evening as she stepped through the doors. There was no moon, no stars outside to suggest that it was evening, though a cool breeze blew through the caverns. Homura paused beyond the entryway, mulling over what little she’d learned for her wasted time.

“That’s a real neat trick, kid.”

Homura flinched, reaching for her nine millimeter. She stopped herself with her hand on the grip, finger poised to release the safety. She had only what she’d fallen into the labyrinth with, and her ammunition was finite.

Sans grinned at her from the road, some twenty feet in front of her. There was no possible way for him to have beaten her outside. And yet, there he stood. She noted that he’d elected to keep his distance.

“You should be inside the dining room,” she said, feeling foolish for stating something so witlessly obvious.

Sans shrugged, as though somewhat embarrassed at showing off. “I know some tricks, too. Heh.” He tapped the side of his nasal bone and snuffed one of the lights in his eye sockets in another galling wink. “I’ll explain when you do. Night, kid.”

With that, he ambled off down the road into the gloom.

Homura watched him until he was well out of sight and the sound of his shoes scuffing the ground had faded. He’d headed in the opposite direction from New Home and all her previous attempts at escaping the labyrinth, or whatever this place might be. Shaking her head, Homura frowned. Every one of her attempts had proved fruitless. It was time for another approach, and so far only one being seemed to have any inkling of what needed to be done, who wasn’t also hostile toward her.

Not allowing herself to vent her frustration further, Homura exhaled a bit sharply through her nose and started walking in the direction the skeleton had taken.

Since becoming a magical girl, Homura had learned that the only person she could rely on was herself. People— even those she’d considered her friends, save one— were weak, were selfish, and could only let her down and hinder her. She’d lost her ability to trust, inch by painful inch. But if it meant a chance at leaving this labyrinth, of returning to the one who needed her protection, she would try to find it again.

For Madoka’s sake, she would try.


	8. Even the king needs to go the fuck to sleep sometimes (King Papyrus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some King Papyrus Ending h/c, because I'm super frazzled and need some comfort fluff at the moment. Set in the same universe as the Guard Captain Monster Kid one, but obviously way earlier in the timeline.   
> Content: h/c, mild illness, fluffy depression?

Over the past couple months, Sans had gotten into the habit of leaving the door to his office open. With as much time as he spent tied to his desk, being able to see and hear what was going on outside made the day a lot less lonely. And with as many times as Papyrus passed by on his way to and from his many duties, it was almost like they were hanging out. Next best thing, right?

A grin tugged at his mouth as he heard his brother in the hall. Setting his pen down, he looked up in time to wave at Papyrus as he walked past the door, deep in conversation with an adviser who was struggling to keep up with his walking pace. Papyrus caught sight of Sans through the doorway and waved back, smiling brightly. It was the most direct interaction they’d had in two days. There was no helping it— even with the immediate aftermath of the human’s rampage behind them, the Underground was nowhere near recovered. Papyrus was hitting his stride as king, which was good now that the real work of reconstruction was getting underway.

Much of that work fell to Sans, who was better suited to long hours spent reading plans and proposals and requisitions than Papyrus, who had his hands full with keeping everyone calm and in high spirits. Keeping up on the official correspondence was a full time job on its own, on top of making sure the efforts to provide displaced monsters with shelter and food stayed organized. The official death toll needed continual updates, too, as reports kept rolling in of families reunited and…not. Papyrus wasn’t going anywhere near that particular task. Not if Sans could help it.

A few hours later, a group of small footsteps reverberated down the hallway. Sans looked up from an especially long report to see a herd of kids stampede by, whooping and hollering, followed by Papyrus. A teacher from Waterfall had opened a makeshift school right inside the castle to give the kids something normal to do. A lot of them grumbled about having to go to lessons, until Papyrus came up with the clever ruse of challenging them to a daily race from their sleeping and playing area to the big room that served as their schoolhouse.

There weren’t quite as many kids now as there had been at first. Parents and next of kin had shown up one by one as the dust settled, claiming their missing children with tearful relief. Some of them would be staying permanently, however, with no one else to take them. Sans had already begun amending the castle’s monthly budget to account for the long term expenses of raising a couple dozen kids. Papyrus was doing the hard work of making each of them feel welcome and loved, so it was only fair Sans chip in where he could.

Where was he…? Sans blinked down at the paperwork in front of him, bleary and sore. According to the clock and the crick in his neck he’d been working nonstop for hours, but the stacks of papers on his desk didn’t look any smaller. Did monsters sneak more in without him noticing? Oh, well. Nothing to do about it but keep his metaphorical nose to the metaphorical grindstone.

He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Hmm?” Sans hadn’t even noticed himself nodding off. The room was dim, the lights outside turned off for the night. Shaking the sleep-fuzziness from his head, Sans look up at Papyrus, who was frowning down at him. “Sup, bro? Long time no see. Need something?”

Papyrus’ frown deepened. “I was on my way to bed and noticed you were still at your desk. How long have you been snoozing here?”

With a sheepish grin, Sans shrugged, looking down at the smudged paper he’d conked out on. “Long enough to drool all over this, I guess. Jeez.” He picked up the paper by one dry corner. “Man, now I gotta start the whole page over.”

“I didn’t see you move from that spot all day.” Papyrus crossed his arms. “It feels incredibly strange to say this, but I think you should take a break, Sans.”

Sans chuckled. “Sounds strange to hear it, too. Don’t worry, bro,” he said, gesturing at the piles of paperwork on his desk. “I’ll pack it in for the day as soon as this is done.”

Scowling, Papyrus scrutinized the desk, measuring the tallest stack with his outstretched palm. He had to move his hand up several times, thumb to pinky, to reach the top. “I don’t think this can be finished anytime soon.”

“It’s fine, bro,” Sans said, pulling out a clean piece of paper and starting to rewrite the ruined page. “I had a good nap, got my second wind now. Just letter me handle it, okay?”

Papyrus scoffed, then reached over and plucked the pen from his hand.

“Hey!”

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Papyrus scolded, holding the pen out of Sans’ reach. “When did you eat last, Sans? I don’t see a single stain on your clothes.”

“Heh, isn’t that a good thing? There’s no pleasing some people,” Sans said, straightening from his chair and making another grab for the pen. He still couldn’t reach. Damn, he hated being the short brother sometimes. Standing up made his back crunch in a weird way, too. Maybe he had been sitting too long.

Papyrus shook his head and pocketed the pen. “Sans, I’m being serious. This can wait.”

“Fine,” Sans sighed, rolling some of the stiffness out of his shoulders. Quitting now would mean an even bigger pile to deal with tomorrow, but he didn’t want Papyrus worrying about him all night. He already had more than enough to deal with.

“Come along, then,” Papyrus said, shooing him into the hall. “I didn’t have time to eat, either, so I’ll make us both something.”

‘Something’ turned out to be spaghetti, as Sans had guessed. That was fine. After so much practice cooking for every monster in spitting distance, Papyrus had gotten pretty good. Since he was more used to the equipment there, they were eating not in the royal apartments but in the castle kitchen that served the staff and New Home’s many remaining refugees. At this hour, it was abandoned and quiet, and they could enjoy their meal undisturbed.

“So,” Sans said, around a mouthful of pasta that was barely burnt, “looked like you had a pretty busy day.”

“As usual,” Papyrus said, not quite chipper. “I don’t begrudge them, of course. I’m happy to address any concerns they have.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, for a moment looking more haggard than Sans had ever seen him. “But it’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t need anything for a change.”

It was an obvious setup, but Sans couldn’t resist. “Oh, hey, I’ve actually been needing to ask you about-”

Papyrus groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Sans leaned over the worn table to clap Papyrus on the shoulder. “Heh, I’m just yanking your chain, bro.”

Glaring through his spread fingers, Papyrus sighed and lowered his hands. “Well, don’t. The Great Papyrus doesn’t need any chains yanked, by you or any other person.”

Sans shrugged and went back to eating. “Y’know, if you switched that up a little, it might sound more kingly. Papyrus the Great, or something. It’d look good on the ol’ letterhead.”

Normally, Papyrus would share what were no doubt strong opinions on how best to present himself to his public. Tonight, he made a sort of noncommittal hum. He must really be tired. Sans certainly was. Desk naps were nice and all, but they weren’t a substitute for real sleep.

“It’s not gonna be like this forever,” Sans said, unhappy with how run-down Papyrus was getting but unable to do much about it. “We just gotta stick it out for a little while.”

Papyrus nodded his agreement. “When Undyne and the others get back,” he said, “we’ll have more help.”

Which was another thing Sans would have to deal with later. Much later. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Definitely.”

After another few minutes of pensive pasta-twirling, Papyrus said, “Do you think I’m doing a good job?”

Sans wasn’t used to this new introspective side of his brother. When had Papyrus gotten so mature? “Sure, of course,” he said, frowning. “You’re doing great, bro.”

“You’re not just saying that? Because this is all somewhat more difficult than I anticipated,” Papyrus said, shoving a stewed tomato around his plate idly. “Everyone’s counting on me, and their confidence isn’t misplaced, but…”

“Papyrus, you got nothing to worry about. Asgore himself couldn’t be handling this mess better.” Sans did his best to inject confident cheer into his voice. It wasn’t like Papyrus to doubt himself, but the last couple months had worn them both down, it seemed. “You’re doing your best to take care of everyone, and I think they can see that. And I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Papyrus beamed. “Thank you, Sans! I must say you’ve really stepped up to the plate, too. I’ve never seen you work so hard.” His smile softened, and he brandished his fork at Sans in warning. “Just don’t overdo it! Otherwise you’ll get sick, and then where will we be? Sansless!”

“Heh. Aye aye, Your Majesty.”

Papyrus snorted, and their conversation turned, happily, toward anything other than their work.

The following morning, Sans entered his office to find the lights on and the stack of papers on his desk greatly diminished. There was no mystery to solve, as his brother was still hunched over at the desk. Everything from Papyrus’ posture to the dark circles under his eye sockets pointed to an all-nighter.

“Aw, bro,” Sans grumbled, shutting the door behind him so anyone passing by wouldn’t witness what was sure to be an argument. “You can’t go setting a bad example for me like this.”

Papyrus glanced up briefly, guilt flashing across his face. He bent over the document he was finishing again, pen scratching sluggishly over the paper. “I said you needed to take a break, so I’m helping to facilitate just that, Sans.” He set the pen down and sat back, vertebrae popping loudly. “It’s starting to feel like you do more work than me around here, and I can’t let that stand.”

“You know that’s not true.” Sans took the opportunity to lay claim to the pen. What was good for the gander was good for the…other gander. “Your shift’s done. Go get some shut-eye.”

“Impossible,” Papyrus said, shaking his head vehemently. “I have a meeting with the council this morning, and the minister of labor needs help with that kerfuffle in Hotland, and…and…ah-choo!”

Sans jumped at the sudden noise. “Uh-uh, you’re not going anywhere but straight to bed,” he snapped, laying a hand on Papyrus’ forehead to check his temperature (which, frankly, wasn’t very useful without skin). He couldn’t even remember the last time his brother had gotten sick, but now that he was really paying attention, Papyrus looked like absolute crap. Ironic, given his nagging last night.

Papyrus shook his head, sniffling. “I have far too much to do today,” he said, voice rough with whatever ailment he was fighting off. “I’ll be fine. I just need a brisk run to wake me up, that’s all.” He hauled himself to his feet, leaning noticeably on the desk for support.

Forget running, Sans would be amazed if Papyrus could walk all the way to his room without help. “Sure, bro. You do that after you grab a quick nap.”

“I don’t have time!” Even as he protested, Papyrus let Sans guide him through the halls. “There’s so much to do, and I can’t keep everyone waiting…” He paused to sneeze again, his whole body shuddering with it.

One of the interchangeable chairmonsters of some committee or other that Sans could never keep straight caught sight of them as they reached the edge of the courtyard and approached. Sans warned them away with a raised hand.

“Nope. Not today, pal.” With a tug at Papyrus’ arm, he kept walking.

“Sans,” Papyrus hissed, boots dragging slightly through the courtyard garden. “What if that was important?”

“If it’s really that important, they’ll figure something out themselves. They’re adults, they can handle it.” Sans all but chased Papyrus into the royal apartments, determined that he wouldn’t leave again today for any reason short of the castle burning down. It took surprisingly little coaxing to get Papyrus to return to his bed, which had probably gone unused for the last forty-eight hours.

Paperwork banished to the bottom of the priority list for the day, Sans went to the kitchen and tried to remember how to make tea. Did the tea leaves go in the kettle, or…? Well, it was probably close enough to right.

To his surprise, Papyrus was still awake when he returned with a mug of hot tea.

“You’ll wake me up once my nap time is up, won’t you?” Papyrus said, stifling a cough.

There was no way Papyrus was doing any work until he was well. That was final. That was an argument they could have after Papyrus’ nap, however, which would last until he woke up on his own. “Sure, bro. Don’t even worry about it. Just get some rest.”

Papyrus yawned, looking vaguely embarrassed at the rare sign of fatigue. “I wanted to give you a break, not extra work.”

“This is a break,” Sans said, setting the mug of tea down within easy reach. “I get to not be at my desk for a few hours. But you gotta pace yourself from now on, alright?”

Papyrus nodded against his pillow, sniffling.

“I think I saw a copy of Fluffy Bunny Goes To Parliament on the bookcase in the dining room. You want to hear it?” Sans half-expected Papyrus to protest that kings didn’t need to be read stories.

Maybe it was a sign of just how lousy he felt, but Papyrus made another tentative nod. “That would be nice.”

When Sans returned with the book, Papyrus was out like a light. Sans set the book on the nightstand for later and went back out into the main room. Someone would have to field the monsters that would show up looking for the king.

Papyrus took care of everyone. It was his turn to be taken care of for a change. Whether he liked it or not.

 

 


End file.
